Mushnik and son
by suddenlysomewherethatsgreen
Summary: A two part story about Seymour and Mr. Mushnik's first encounter, and how Seymour got his job. I've seen a lot of stories with this idea so this one is different. Fans of the 1960's movie will recognize a name in part 2
1. Part 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Little Shop of Horrors or any of it's characters**

 **Part One**

Seymour was almost positive he was lost at this point. As he walked down the dirty Skid Row street in his too big sneakers, he took in his surroundings. There was the wine-o he saw passed out 10 minutes ago. Did he do a lap? Which way now?

Living at the Skid Row home for boys, leaving wasn't technically not allowed, but it was frowned upon. He knew tons of boys who walked out. Sometimes they came back a week or so later. Sometimes they were wearing new shoes flashing new baseball cards. Sometimes they reeked of cigarettes. Sometimes they had a broken jaw or a black eye. Sometimes they just didn't come back. Seymour didn't even really have a reason for taking off today of all days. He wasn't fed up with anything in particular. Sure he was being bullied, but he had been all his life, and it wasn't anything new. Today was no different. His stomach growled. He thought of his lunch being snatched away today by one of the older boys laughing "TOO SLOW KRELBORN!" Not that any grown ups would help. Though as he was walking down the damp street, his feet sliding in and out of his sneakers with each step, he prayed they would. Would anyone come looking for him? Or even notice he was gone?

He stopped in his tracks when he realized one of his shoes had come off. Bending down he retrieved the crumpled newspapers that had fallen out, and stuffed them back inside tying the laces as tight as he was able. He stood back up and brushed off his pants. Where was he? Some kind of shopping district?

He looked up at the big glass window he was standing in front of. "Mushnik's Flower Shop" was painted in big letters. He pressed his face up to the dirty window and tried to make out what was inside. Plants! He loved plants. All kinds. He thought back to the pressed flowers and dead leafs collection he had under his mattress. Seymour often found himself saving leafs, admiring each and every vein before tucking it away for safekeeping. He had even tried to teach another boy the different parts of the flower once, when he had reached out and ate the top off. That was the last time he had tried that. Though he had never seen flowers these colors before. Bright yellow, soft lavender, sea blue. The window was too dirty though.

He opened the store door and heard a jingle above him. He glanced up at the bell on top of the door and smiled. The store was not much cleaner on the inside, though it appeared to have no one working. Seymour turned back to the window display and smiled at the flowers. He pressed his face against the lavender and inhaled its sweet perfume. Unlike any of the smells he was used to. He admired each flower in the display, touching their pedals and stroking their leafs. When he had smelled each of them at least once he turned around to looked at the rest of the flowers in the store. A certain rose arrangement caught his eye. It sat proudly on the counter in a beautiful faux crystal vase nearly radiating its deep red. Seymour was drawn to it. Wide eyed, he walked up to the counter and picked it up. He held it at eye level admiring both the roses and the vase. He had to have one. Just one, to take back to the home with him. He would hide it under his mattress or between the pages of a book and nobody would know. Surely whoever owned this store wouldn't miss just one rose. He reached into the arrangement and tried to grab the big plump one in the middle.

"OUCH!" he screamed as he felt a prick.

Thorns. He had forgotten about the thorns. In his surprise the vase slipped through his grasp, and he saw it shatter at his feet with a loud crash. The red roses sprayed out along the linoleum like drops of blood. He froze. He heard a rumble from the back and braced himself.

A portly man with a bushy mustache appeared through a swinging door. He saw a boy standing by the counter, a look of pure terror on the child's face and blood dripping from his finger. The man looked down at the child's feet where his precious vase was shattered in pieces everywhere. He turned a great purple.

"What do you think you are doing?!" He shouted.

Seymour didn't say anything. He didn't even move.

"My arrangement! How do you intend to pay for this?!"

Seymour looked down at his feet then back at the man, the look of terror still frozen on his face unmoving.

"Do you have any idea how much this cost me?!"

He moved forward towards him. Seymour flinched, thinking he was going to be struck. He shielded his arms across his face and lowered his head. The man saw this and stopped. He looked down at his feet where his shoes were crunching the shards.

"So?" he asked.

Seymour lowered his arms slightly and looked up at his face.

"How. Do. You. Intend. To. Pay. For. This?" he asked, stretching out each word.

Seymour moved his arms to his sides completely and stood up straight.

"I don't have any money sir."

"That's what I thought," he responded. "Ah great, that's just great," he said pacing back and forth.

The man turned his back on Seymour and rubbed his mustache thinking. Of course this kid had to come into HIS store. He looked at the floor, covered in shards, pedals, and also weeks worth of dirt. He looked up at the displays of vases and pots which had started to collect dust. He looked at the window in desperate need of being cleaned. He looked over his shoulder at Seymour who hadn't moved. Very slowly he pushed past the swinging door and returned with a broom. Seymour flinched again, assuming he was going to use it to strike him.

"Sweep," he was ordered, as the man held out the broom.

Hesitating Seymour took the broom and looked down at his mess. Slowly he started to sweep the shards, then the pedals. He looked up and saw the man watching him intently. He lowered his head and continued to sweep. When his mess was cleaned up he didn't stop there. He swept under the counter and pulled out a mess of dried brown flower pedals. He swept around the displays getting every speck of dirt and flecks of glitter. He swept in every corner and every crevice. He found himself getting slightly agitated noticing how the floor never truly looked clean, no matter how many times he brushed. After he had done as well as he was able to he was handed a dustpan and swept up his piles. The man nodded towards a garbage can behind the counter and Seymour dumped the mess.

"What's your name kid?"

"S… Seymour Krelborn… sir."

"You may call me Mr. Mushnik."

Seymour stood still for a second before he smirked nervously and held out his hand. Startled, Mr. Mushnik grabbed it and shook it. Mr. Mushnik's hand was much larger, it nearly swallowed Seymour's hand.

Mr. Mushnik looked at this kid. He couldn't be very old. He was too small. Maybe six? He looked very dirty, though he couldn't have accumulated all that dirt from sweeping the floor. It must have been from before. His hair was a mess of brown curls in desperate need of being cut under a navy blue baseball cap. His cheeks slightly indented, his smile crooked. He was also wearing a pair of glasses, though there was no way these belonged to him. They were much too big for his face and were held together by a piece of tape on the bridge of the nose and on one of the hinges. It was almost as if these glasses were used by an adult, tossed aside, then fished out of the garbage by a child in desperate need of them. And that's exactly what had happened.

"Well," said Mushnik clearing his throat, "Are your parents going to come find you soon? Could they pay for the vase?"

Seymour frowned and shook his head.

"Hmph. Well Krelborn, my usual employee is M.I.A. today," he glanced back at the clock, just before 3:00, "so you have three hours to make up for the vase."

"What do I have to do sir?" he asked as he began to wring his hands.

He motioned his index finger at the front display window and fished out a rag from behind the counter.

"Go clean that window off for me."

"Yes sir," he answered taking it.

Mushnik raised his eyebrows. Yes sir? No sir? Who was this kid?

Seymour started by cleaning the inside of the window. He climbed up on the ledge and started to wipe. He looked at the reflection of the skinny boy in glasses and smiled a toothy grin back at it. He had the same issue with the window as he did with the floor, it was never really clean. When he was satisfied with the inside he went out the door and started to wipe the outside. Mushnik watched him. He could run, he thought. He was already outside the shop. No boy would stay and work the extra hours when he could take off running. Obviously a child could outrun him, and find somewhere to hide behind a dumpster or something, never to be found by ol' Mushnik. However, Mushnik shook his head of this thought. He knew, somehow, that Seymour wouldn't run.

When Seymour finished the window he came back in, the bell tinkling above him, and a smile of satisfaction on his face. Mushnik walked into the back room and came back holding a toilet brush.

"I want you to think about how generous I am being," he said as he held it out to him like a sword.

He expected him to cringe, or at least groan. But he just took it. He cleaned toilets all the time at the home, no big deal. It was one of his chores but it was something for a kid who lacked friends to do. He pushed through the swinging door and through another door he presumed to be the bathroom. The toilet didn't look as if it had been cleaned any time recently and he sighed before he got on his knees.

When he was finished he pushed back through the swinging door. Mushnik thought for a minute before retrieving a watering can. Seymour's face lit up at the sight of it. "Really?" his expression asked. This didn't bother him at all. He loved to water plants! Raising his eyebrows he handed the can over to Seymour who quickly scurried away with it. He came back nearly 10 seconds later for a refill, the smile still plastered on his face. Mushnik showed him where to refill it and off he went again.

"How old are you Krelborn?" Mushnik asked as he watched him watering a giant pot on the floor by the door.

"Nine, sir."

Nine? This child was tiny! He seemed incredibly skinny in his clothes that were much too big for him. Maybe he was malnourished?

There weren't any customers but Mr. Mushnik never seemed to run out of work for him. Seymour just kept buzzing through them though. It was when he was rearranging the flowers in the front window that he noticed a familiar shape outside.

"Mr. Dean!" He shouted as he knocked his knuckles on the window, "Mr. Dean!"

He looked back at Mr. Mushnik, his face lit up with hope. Someone he knew! Someone to take him home! Mushnik glanced at the clock, 5:55. Close enough.

Mushnik cleared his throat, "alright then. That's three hours of work, consider it payed for."

Seymour slid of the window ledge and ran over to Mushnik, hugging his legs tightly.

"Thank you sir, thank you," he whispered then sprinted out the door.

Mushnik rubbed his palm on his forehead and tried to hide his smile. That was not the reaction he was expecting to get after all the work he had done. He walked over to the window and watched him running up to a man. Seymour stopped at his feet and looked up at him. Mr. Dean turned to face him, clearly surprised and shouted something. Seymour reached his arms up as if to hug him but instead the man lifted his arm and slapped him clean across the face. Mr. Mushnik couldn't hear what he was saying but he was shouting and waving his finger in Seymour's face. Seymour buried his face in his hands and shook as if he was crying. The man grabbed Seymour's wrist and pulled him with him, heading in the opposite direction of the shop. Seymour hung his head but didn't put up a fight. Mushnik watched until they were out of sight. Who is this kid? he wondered one last time.


	2. Part 2

**Part Two**

This time his sneakers fit better. This time he was few inches taller. This time he knew EXACTLY where he wanted to go. Over a year and a half had passed since he had spent the day in Mushnik's Skid Row Florist. He had paid the price greatly for taking off like he did but it was worth it. He hadn't quite made up his mind to leave again until he was sitting in the yard, basking in the midday spring air when he spotted a patch of yellow. Dandelions! Most people thought they were weeds but he thought they were beautiful. He walked over to the crack in the sidewalk they were sprouting from and admired them, taking in each and every pedal and stem. He got down on his knees and smiled. However, they were nothing like the flowers he had seen once before. He glanced up quickly at the home just once before he turned his back completely and started walking.

He was still getting used to the Skid Row streets. Though he had lived there all his life, they still looked strange and foreign, almost as if from another planet. Everything would've after 11 years of staring at the same clam chowder colored walls. He passed by a man with an empty bottle of wine completely passed out on the sidewalk and stepped over him. He rounded the corner past a couple of women dressed in rather scandalous garments. It was then that he saw a clue. A man with a trench coat and a hat was holding a bouquet of tulips. Smiling he took off running in the direction the man had come from. A few blocks later there it was, just as he remembered it.

He ran up to the window and pressed his face against. It was there. It was all there. Other than the flowers on display, not much had changed. It even looked as if the window hadn't been cleaned since he had done it last. He proudly marched to the door and swung it open. The bell jingled above him and he beamed up at it. The man behind the counter lowered the newspaper he was reading. Seeing it was a kid he scowled.

"Don't break anything, alright?"

Seymour hesitated for just a moment before he paced up to the counter.

"Hello sir," he said, a shy smile spread on his face as he tried to conceal his excitement.

Mr. Mushnik lowered the newspaper fully then. He looked into the pair of broken glasses and his eyes lit with recognition.

"Hey its… its uh…" he said snapping his fingers, wracking his brain trying to remember.

"Seymour," Seymour finished for him.

"Seymour that's it! Look, don't break anything this time alright," he said raising his newspaper again.

Seymour found this humorous and let out a nervous laugh. After a few seconds Mushnik went to turn the page and realized Seymour was standing there still, unmoving.

"What?" he asked.

Seymour began to wring his hands, "Well, let's say I didn't break anything. I just wanted to be here. Could I?"

Mushnik raised his eyebrows, "huh?"

"Sir, I really like the plants, and I was wondering… uhh…"

He ran his fingers through his hair and looked over at a bouquet of daffodils which reminded him why he was here.

"Sir, can I work here again? Even if it's just for the day?"

This took Mushnik by surprise. He rubbed his mustache and stifled a laugh.

"You want to work here for the day?"

"Very much so, sir."

"I can't pay you much," he said leaning back in his chair and placing his hands on the top of his head.

Seymour looked back over his shoulder at the daffodils and smiled.

"That's okay sir."

He looked into Seymours face, so full of hope, and shrugged.

"Brooms in the back, and like I said, don't break anything."

Seymour ran to the back room to retrieve the broom. He hadn't been sweeping for more than five minutes before the bell above the door jingled. Looking over his shoulder, in trudged a man that suddenly made him feel very agitated. He had blonde pompadour and a dark 5 o'clock shadow. To the short Seymour he looked to be 6 feet tall, though he couldn't have been more than 5'10" at most. His greased up hair looked to be the only thing neat about him. When he had taken a few steps in the smell hit. Seymour covered his nose. He hated the smell of booze. He smelt it often on the breath of some of his guardians and even the older boys after swiping some.

The man nodded to Seymour, "who's the kid, Gravis?"

Mushnik put down the paper fully on the table and stood up.

"Nice of you to show up Fulquard! Only 3 hours before closing this time."

The man smiled viciously and held up his dirty hands, "Look man I'm here now alright. No need to replace me with some toddler."

Mushnik rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

"Ah God what an existence I've got," he muttered to himself pushing past the swinging door.

The man shrugged out off his brown leather jacket and hung it up on the rack. Though without his jacket he didn't look much cleaner. His shirt wasn't ironed or even washed, and his pants were in desperate need of being mended. Seymour looked away not meeting his gaze. He tried to focus on his sweeping. Only his sweeping. He was invisible. Oh why did Mr. Mushnik have to go in the back room?

"Hey kid?" he asked leaning against the counter.

Seymour looked up and tried to hide the terror in his face. He hunched his shoulders, which made him look even smaller and meek. This man wasn't a nice man. That much he could tell very easily.

"What's your name?"

Do I lie? He wondered. What would be the point in that?

"Seymour Krelborn."

"John Fulquard," he said holding out his hand.

Hesitating, Seymour walked forward and shook it.

"What are you doing here?"

Seymour looked back down at his sweeping. He focused on the pattern of the linoleum and the pile of dirt and pedals accumulating at his feet.

"Came… to see… the flowers."

John turned away and chuckled. Seymour didn't look up but he could hear his boots stomping around.

"He came to see the flowers. He just came to see the flowers," he said to himself laughing.

It was at this Mushnik appeared again and Seymour breathed a sigh of relief. Mushnik handed John a toilet brush, the same one Seymour had used a year and a half ago. John let out a groan that sounded more like a growl and went in back. Seymour wide eyed looked at Mushnik. He wasn't looking back though. He was looking back at John shaking his head.

"Ya like girls Seymour?" John later asked, his head propped on the counter by his palm as he sat leaned forward on a stool.

Seymour looked up from the plant he had been watering, "I… guess so."

Mushnik was sitting in the swivel chair, completely oblivious, or at least pretending to be, to their conversation.

"I had a girl," he said leaning back in his chair, "I had several, and trust me, don't bother. Just give up the game now."

"Why's that?" he pried.

Mushnik wasn't scared of John, there's no reason he should be either, he thought to himself.

John chuckled, "Ah jeez where to begin. I had a wife ya know."

He began picking at his nails with a lose twig, not looking at Seymour who was staring.

"Had?" he asked.

"Yup. Had. Daughter too. That was a mistake. Never get married kid."

Seymour looked away. First he glanced at the watering can he clutched in his fist. Then he glanced down at his feet, trying to shake the thought of his parents out of his head.

Unable to, he asked, "Did they… Did they die?"

"What?" he let out a laugh, "No, least I don't think so. I haven't seen them in a while. Took off a few years ago. Best decision I ever made."

Seymour furrowed his brow and looked at John. Seymour had completely stopped his working. It was clear John had been drinking. There was no way he would've opened up like this if he hadn't.

"What about you?"

"Huh?"

"What's your family like? Dead?"

Seymour looked away again. This time out the window. He saw his reflection in the dirt. He scowled at the lanky 11-year-old boy and turned his gaze back to the floor. He knew enough to know John wouldn't let it go. He'd just ask again. He took a breath, then another.

"I don't know," he answered finally, "Maybe. I... I never met them."

John stopped cleaning his nails. Mushnik set down his paper. Both of them stared at Seymour. He pretended not to notice as he continued to water the plant. He felt tears grow in his eyes and he cursed himself. He looked away and blinked them back. His can was empty. He went to the back room to fill it, taking his time. When he came back they were both still silent as Seymour resumed his work.

"Ah man," John said finally, "That sucks."

Seymour chewed his lip and continued to water. It did suck. It totally sucked.

"So, are they dead or did they just not want you?"

"John!" exclaimed Mushnik, "leave the kid alone for pete's sake!"

"I don't know," Seymour answered over him, just wanting this conversation to be over.

"Skid Row, kid. Lots of hookers, lots of men. Probably didn't want you. Hell, I could be your dad for all you know!" He mocked as he looked Seymour up and down, "Probably not, I don't remember any brunettes."

"John!"

Seymour held his breath before letting out a sob in spite of himself. He had heard this before from the other boys, and even considered this for himself. He knew it must be true. But hearing it again from him, it was like a fresh wound. Tears flooded his eyes and poured down his cheeks before he could blink them back. He let out another sob and tried to catch his breath. He dropped the watering can which landed with a series of clangs. It's contents spilling all over the floor.

"Oh Mr. Mushnik I am so sorry. I… I'll clean it up."

He ran to the back room and grabbed the first towel he could find. Running back he got on his hands and knees, determined to make it right. He sniffed. Tears were still running down his face, adding little droplets to the puddle. Mushnik got out of his chair at this point, and slowly walked over to Seymour. His shiny shoes nearly splashing him as he walked through the puddle. His feet only inches from his face as he stood over him. Seymour felt him looking down but didn't look up. Then Mushnik leaned down and touched Seymour. Not a hit or a strike, but a gentle touch on the shoulder. He looked up at him to see a look of seriousness on his face.

"That's alright Krelborn. John will do that."

He held his arm and slowly pulled him back on his feet.

John let out a grown and rolled his head back. Mr. Mushnik, still holding Seymour by the arm walked him into the back room. Seymour had been in this room, but not for more than a few seconds at a time. He took this time to take in his environment. The walls were yellow, or at least were at some point. And there was a big table laid out with loose flowers on it. Mr. Mushnik walked Seymour to this table and sat him down. Seymour was done crying but his lashes were still wet, his face was still streaked with tears and his eyes were still red. He stared at Mushnik's tie, not looking up at his face. He left the room briefly and came back with a glass of water. He handed it to Seymour, who held it in his hands for a few seconds before taking a sip. He looked down at the water rippling in the glass and felt like a fool. Mentally, he kicked himself for making such a fuss.

"How are you at arrangements?" Mr. Mushnik asked.

Seymour shrugged.

"I need a funeral one. It's simple enough. Just lilies and glitter. No room for error. Got it?"

Lilies and glitter. Simple enough.

Mr. Mushnik hesitated for a few seconds before nodding and turned back through the swinging door. Seymour could hear cursing and shouting from the other side and turned his back, now facing the table. Lilies and glitter. He saw the lilies, where was the glitter?

Mushnik reappeared just a minute later to find Seymour on his hands and knees trying to scoop up glitter back into the bag, the entirety of it spilled on the floor.

"Im sorry sir."

Mr. Mushnik rubbed his face with his hands.

"No, its fine," he answered, though very obviously irritated.

"Sir, I could go home if you'd like me too." Seymour looked down at the glitter spilled all over the floor, now covering his hands and his pants. Maybe he shouldn't have come at all.

"Where is home for you?" Mr. Mushnik asked.

Seymour looked back up.

"The Skid Row home for boys."

"Oh yeah?" Mushnik thought out loud, "I got a buddy that works there. A Stanley."

Seymour's face brightened slightly with recognition, but he still didn't smile.

"I know Mr. Stanley."

Mr. Mushnik rubbed his forehead and looked down at Seymour's face. So youthful and innocent. So full of life. He didn't have any reason for coming in today, yet here he was before his own employee even showed up. A thought occurred to him.

"Just clean it up."

He pushed through the swinging door, passed John finishing up on the floor, and went down the basement door. It wasn't so bad in there. Save for a few inventory boxes there was plenty of room.

After cleaning up his spill Seymour got on his feet again. There was still glitter on his pants he wasn't able to get off. This he would hear an earful about from the other boys. He pushed that thought out of his head and decided to go look for Mr. Mushnik.

He pressed open the door just enough to poke his head out. He didn't see Mr. Mushnik anywhere. John wasn't on the floor anymore. He was behind the counter. Seymour saw the register close suddenly, and the swift move of him shoving something into his shirt pocket. It couldn't have been a transaction though, there were no customers. Mr. Mushnik reappeared from the basement door.

"Mr. Mushnik…" Seymour called out, then stopped himself.

He swallowed hard. Both men were staring at him. He looked from Mr. Mushnik, to John, then Mushnik and back again. He scowled. He had been taught the hard way from the other boys about snitching, but he didn't care. John had made a joke of him, he didn't care what happened, whether he lost his job or not.

"John stole from the register!" he blurted finally in a rare act of bravery.

Nobody moved for a few seconds. John lifted his hands and put a fake comforting smile on his face.

"Hey kid, I know you are upset, but there's no reason to be spreading lies."

The smile planted on his face chilled him down to the core.

"Krelborn…" Mushnik began as he moved forward.

"I'm not lying Mr. Mushnik!" he nearly shouted.

Mushnik looked at John who glanced back at him with a look of disbelief on his face as if to say "Seriously?" He pushed past him and opened the register. He looked at the stack of bills in neat order and coins all organized. Nothing appeared to be missing. He looked back at Seymour with a questioning look but the boy's look of determination was unwavering. Slowly, he lifted up the drawer of the register to where he kept the hundred dollar bills. Sure enough, it was empty. He slammed the register shut with a bang and turned to John with a look that scared even him.

"Gravis…" he started.

"You're fired Fulquard!"

"Hey, hey, buddy. There's no need to act…"

With one swift move Mr. Mushnik reached into his pocket and pulled out the hundred dollar bill. John stared back startled and frozen. Then his look slowly turned to anger nearly boiling over. He glared down at Mr. Mushnik. He might've been taller by a few inches but Mr. Mushnik was clearly the larger man. He couldn't win this battle. Spinning around he turned to Seymour, who took off running. Seymour didn't think to run out the door, or even through the back door. Instead he ran across the shop, finding himself trapped against a wall. He spun around in time to see John coming near him with his fist raised. He cowered on the floor, shielding his face, getting ready for what was the come.

"John!"

He hesitated long enough to look at Mr. Mushnik who was motioning to the front window. John looked over his shoulder to see two policeman strolling by, a rare sight on Skid Row. Hesitating, he lowered his fist and glared down at Seymour as he towered over him. In this minute he appeared to be 7 feet tall. Then, moving as quickly as before, John left in a huff grabbing his coat. The bell jingling as he slammed the door.

Seymour didn't get off the floor. Instead he spread his legs out in front of him, pressed his back against the wall and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Staring ahead of him his mind drifted to the thought of John's daughter. Was she anything like him? Seymour assumed she must be blonde too. Probably tall as well, but Seymour wondered if that was were the resemblance stopped. Did she have the same mean demeanor as him, or was she kind? Was she the one throwing the punches, or was she the punching bag? He hoped he hadn't left too much of an imprint. She and him had very similar stories after all. Both unwanted Skid Row brats. At least she had a mother, right? Seymour sighed again. He hoped that, whoever this girl was and wherever she was, that she was alright, and that she was getting love and sweet understanding. He didn't want her to end up like John.

Mr. Mushnik looked at him, then down at the bill he had clutched in his fist and considered the thought he had earlier.

Seymour decided to stay till the end of the work day. Mr. Mushnik watched him intently. He didn't seem to be very good at the job, though he was trying. He was clumsy, but Mr. Mushnik wasn't about to scold him. Not today at least. Finally Mr. Mushnik flipped the sign to closed and looked back at Seymour who had watched him do so.

"So, that's it?" Seymour asked.

"That's it."

Seymour nodded slowly and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Without saying a word he started to head to the door.

"Wait," Mushnik stopped him.

Moving back to the counter he reached into the register and fished out a coin. Slowly, he sauntered back across the room and placed it in his palm. It wasn't half of what he should be paid for a day's work, but Seymour didn't know the difference, nor did he really care. He held it up to his eye and admired it. He never had his own money before.

"Thank you sir."

Mr. Mushnik nodded, "Yeah."

Seymour smiled one more time before skidding out the door. Mushnik watched him through the window. He moved quickly, trying the beat the setting sun. He appeared to know where he was going as he retraced his steps past buildings and stop lights. When he was out of sight Mr. Mushnik turned around and faced the shop. He needed a new employee. John hadn't been the first of terrible workers. The shop had been open for four years now and he had gone through three times that many employees. All of whom never showed up or even gave the job a second thought. He looked at the basement door again and thought about Seymour's eagerness to please. As he put on his coat he kept thinking about Seymour, how the same scrub brush that insulted John posed no problem for him. How he was in a rush to clean up the mess he had caused instead of making excuses. Most importantly, how satisfied he was with the little money he got for a full day's work. He looked over his shoulder again at the basement door. If he lived down there he would never have to worry about him being late, or even missing work. Surely he would be grateful, he didn't imagine the dormitories in the home to be very comfortable. A whole basement to himself might be a nice change of scenery.

As he walked out the door and fumbled with his keys he kept thinking about that kid. He figured he would call Stanley in the morning, or even next week to give himself time to sleep on it. He jingled his keys and shoved them back into his pocket. He looked once more through the shop window. For once it appeared clean.

Ah, why not, Mushnik thought. Why not take pity on the orphan? He sighed and turned away. Besides, it's not like giving Seymour the job would kill him.


	3. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Audrey," 24-year-old Seymour asked his coworker from across the shop.

She glanced up from the tissue paper she was fumbling with and met his eyes.

"Audrey… I've… I've been meaning to ask. What's your father's name?"

He was curious since he had learned her last name some time ago.

She turned her face back down. Seymour realized his mistake. 10 seconds of silence followed. She took several deep breaths before she answered.

"I never really knew him ya know," she answered stroking the paper, still not looking up. "He took off early. He left my mom and me alone."

She continued to stroke the paper, Seymour watching her hands move back and forth.

"Was… was it John?"

She looked up at him abruptly, "Yes, did you know him?" her eyes growing wide.

Seymour looked down at the floor.

"Yeah. I… I did."

"How?"

He looked back up at her, staring back at him.

"He used to work here."

"He did?" she whispered.

"Yeah." Seymour turned his face to cash register. "I got him fired actually."

He looked back at her, a shy smile forming on her lips. She hesitated, looking into his eyes, cheeks blushing.

"Thank you," she said finally.

Seymour smiled.


End file.
